


Into the Woods

by JET_Playin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Animal Attack, Astronomy, Care of Magical Creatures, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Exams, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Forbidden Forest, Hallucinations, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Herbology, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Potions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 05:24:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14610327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JET_Playin/pseuds/JET_Playin
Summary: For the returning Eighth Year students, the professors of Hogwarts have created a practical portion of their N.E.W.T.s exams. With all of the dangers presented, can Harry and Draco survive a week in the Forbidden Forest and make it safely back to the castle?





	Into the Woods

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is exciting! Posting more and more fics based on my own ideas, rather than Tumblr posts XD So here you are! Enjoy!
> 
> Big thanks to MaesterChill for the spectacular beta, and unadulteratedstorycollecter for always being there to chat about ideas and help me in the right direction. You're both amazing! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
> 
> Disclaimer:I don't own Harry Potter or any of its characters.

Draco didn't know where he was. For one panicked moment, he whipped his head around, hand immediately seeking his wand in the small, secret pocket of his robes while he tried to orient himself in the darkness. He willed his heartbeat to slow, methodically taking stock of his surroundings; nothing was familiar, but that was better news than the alternative and he began to relax. Still, it wasn’t until he saw his companion, peacefully asleep on the rough forest floor and nearly shining in the moonlight, that he remembered. This wasn’t the forest surrounding The Manor. He wasn’t fleeing another Cruciatus curse or Muggle murder. The war was over; Potter won. As was evidenced by his presence, mere feet from Draco.

Rising slowly, he brushed dead leaves and twigs from his robes, stretched, and cast about for something to do. He had to calm his nerves before he woke Potter. The last thing he needed was a witness to his irrational anxiety. The surrounding forest was shadowy in predawn starlight, but relatively nondescript; the twisting, gnarled branches of the trees lining what seemed to be a little clearing stood eerily still, silent. With no other indication of where they were, Draco drew his wand and cast, confused when the location spell produced only spluttering sparks.

Shit, no location spells. He knew that. 

The embarrassment over his initial disorientation was made worse by the fact that he knew he’d wake in the forest, that morning. It wasn’t sporadic or unplanned. The eighth-year students had been informed of the assignment and what was expected of them. Though he couldn’t fathom why the professors of Hogwarts felt that the Forbidden Forest was a reasonable location to test their students’ skills, here they were. This was their N.E.W.T.s… Well, a portion of their N.E.W.T.s.

Professor McGonagall’s words echoed through his mind, hollow, like a dream only just remembered.  _ “You will be tested in multiple fields. Each pair of students will be given a kit of supplies. You will find some of your own belongings - clothing, any necessary health and hygiene items - and you may choose to bring some sort of entertainment. Also included, you’ll find your tasks for each subject. Read the instructions carefully. You will also have various potions, antidotes, and a bezoar. Use them well.” _

Tipping his gaze skyward, he studied the stars instead. Surely, if they weren’t permitted location spells, they were expected to navigate by the stars. He could do that. He’d just need a star chart. Weren’t they meant to have a…

Looking around, Draco finally spotted it: a canvas pack, covered in pockets and straps, lying near the center of the clearing, not far from where he and Potter were laid. It didn’t look big enough to carry everything they’d need, but that wasn’t unusual. Stalking across the clearing, Draco dropped to sit beside the pack, crossed his legs, and began removing its contents. Organisation and knowledge were the best preparation, and he definitely wanted to be prepared.

-

Harry woke slowly, sounds filtering through the fog of sleep. Stretching, he winced as a dry leaf worked its way under his tee shirt, scratching at his hip. With a start, he jerked upright, looking around warily. It took him a moment to realise that what he was seeing was fuzzier than he was accustomed to. Patting at the pockets of his jeans, and then the ground around him, Harry growled in frustration.

“They couldn’t have left me my bloody glasses?” he asked of no one in particular.

“I have them,” came Draco’s voice, followed by the rustling of underbrush. Slowly, pale hair and a slim build clad in stark black, came into focus as Draco moved closer. When he was close enough, he held his hand out to Harry, offering what must be his glasses. “They were packed up with your clothes, likely because you weren’t wearing them when the house elves transported us.”

“Thanks,” Harry mumbled, taking his glasses and shoving them on his face. 

Clear vision revealed a rather tired looking Draco Malfoy. His hair was disheveled, the grey eyes haunted and red-rimmed. He rose without another word, turning away and striding back across the clearing before seating himself among a pile of items ranging from clothing to papers to what appeared to be potions bottles. Clambering to his own feet, Harry went to his side, looking down at the selection before him.

“Is that everything?” he asked. Draco nodded, apparently in the middle of counting something. 

This was going to take more effort than Harry had hoped. Getting himself partnered with Draco was the easy part; McGonagall was hesitant, but he assured her there would be no casualties and she was trusting him to look after himself. And he was trusting himself to look after Draco. Still, he was unsure how to proceed. Looking around the clearing, he inhaled the early morning scents: trees, earth, and something citrusy. It didn’t take much to realise that scent was coming from Draco himself. Soft light filtered through a dense canopy above them, and chattering birdsong echoed from all directions.

“How long have you been awake?” he asked, dropping to sit beside Draco. Realising he didn’t actually know what time it  _ was _ , he cast a Tempus and winced. Quarter to six. He never woke up that early. 

“I’m not sure. A few hours.” Straightening his spine, Draco hefted a stack of parchment, passing it to Harry with a grunt. “Here,” he said. “This is yours. Potions, Charms, Defense, Transfiguration, Care of Magical Creatures, and Astronomy.”

“Fuck,” Harry groaned, sagging under the weight. “They weren’t kidding, were they?”

“Of course not. This is our N.E.W.T.s exam, why would they joke about that?” One pale brow winged up and Draco looked legitimately confused. That was something Harry had noticed, since returning to Hogwarts for his eighth year… Draco did not joke about school work. Harry knew he’d always gotten high marks, but he didn’t expect the nearly Ravenclaw-like seriousness. He could give Hermione a run for her money. “I woke up before dawn, so I charted our location and plotted a path back to the castle, but I don’t think it’s going to be that easy,” he was saying, drawing Harry’s attention.

“What about  _ Point Me _ ?”

Draco shook his head. “It doesn’t work, I already tried.”

“Damn.”

“We’ll be fine, for a while. We have the stars.”

“Okay. What’s that?” He pointed to a wooden box comprised of rows of small drawers. Draco lifted it, passing it to him, and Harry shoved his assignments under his arm to make room on his lap. Each drawer had a small lip. He opened several, finding withered leaves and sturdy little roots. One drawer held a small chunk of moonstone. “Potions ingredients,” he said, handing it back.

“Yes, but there isn’t enough here for any potion I know of.”

Harry frowned. “So, we have to collect the rest?”

“That appears to be the idea.” His eyes downcast, Draco began returning items to the pack at his side. “First, we have to work out which potion we’re supposed to brew.”

“Do you have any ideas?”

“Not yet. I’ll sort it out,” he said, finally lifting his eyes to smirk at Harry. “I know how you are with potions.”

“Thanks for that.” He had to refrain from poking out his tongue at the teasing tone. That, at least, was promising. “There’s food, yeah? Pass me some eggs and a pan, would you?”

Draco complied, handing over the ingredients, as well as butter and bacon. Then he frowned. “Not too much, though, Potter. We only have enough food to last a week.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Harry assured him, grinning, then rose to build a fire and get breakfast started.

-

“What would you call this, d’you think?”

Leaning over Potter’s shoulder, Draco examined the gnarled root that poked up from the soil, a mottled red covered in a layer of dirt. “I would call it what it is,” he sneered. “A radish.”

“Is it?” He sounded surprised, poking at the tuber with a distrustful expression.

“Yes, Potter, it is.”

“Hm, what d’you know. And that one?” Pointing, he turned to look at Draco, bringing their faces entirely too close. “What’s that one?”

Draco swallowed, cleared his throat, and stood, effectively removing himself from Potter’s space. “Also, a radish. I’d hazard a guess that this is, in fact, a radish patch.” Resting one hand on his hip, he lifted the other to shield his eyes from the early afternoon sun that filtered through the canopy, high above.

“Why would there be a radish patch in the Forbidden Forest?” Potter asked, standing as well. 

“How should I know?” 

Since leaving the clearing, the day before, all they’d encountered was densely packed trees. As far as the eye could see, which wasn’t far admittedly, was forest. Twisted roots and bending trees. Most of the plants in the Forest had a pallid appearance, as if a stiff wind would uproot them and create a chain reaction until the entire forest was leveled. Oddly enough, the opposite was also true. The forest was so ancient, so lasting, one could believe that it would always stand. Not that  _ that  _ was a particularly pleasant thought.

“We should get moving,” Potter sighed. “Everyone else is likely halfway through by now.”

“Right. Better take some of the radishes.” When the messy, bespectacled head tilted, making Draco’s chest clench a little, he sighed and reminded himself that Potter wasn’t the brightest bloke at Hogwarts. “Radishes are edible, Potter. We should add some to our supplies.”

“Yeah, I understood what you said. I didn’t understand why you said it. We have plenty of supplies, Draco.” Rising, he crossed his arms over his chest, his brow furrowed in confused challenge.

“We should, yes,” Draco agreed. “But this could take longer than planned. Do you want to run out of food? I don’t know how many edible plants are in this forest, but I don’t imagine it’s many.”

“You expect it might take more than a week to get back to the castle?”

“I expect that it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“And how do you know they’re edible, exactly?”

“Have you ever heard of a poisonous radish?” he asked, exasperated. “Just pull up a few, would you?”

Potter glared at him, but bent to do as he was asked, grumbling under his breath. Doing his level best to hold in his frustration, Draco pulled out the map, then passed the bag to the other man. Why, he asked himself for the umpteenth time that day, had the professors deemed it a good idea to chuck the two of them into the Forbidden Forest, together? Alone? 

If this kept up, their task would be more difficult than Draco had initially anticipated. How were they supposed to make their way through the forest before supplies ran out? Or before they killed each other? Of course, Draco wouldn’t have any problem with that. He’d made it this far with as little contact with Potter as possible. There was no reason he couldn’t continue doing just that. Traveling through a forest together for a week was absolutely not going to compromise that.

Decided, he turned his attention to the map, wishing he had more to work with. His calculations would need to be revised before they could continue the next day, which meant they’d have to find a clearing to make camp. For the moment, though, they were going in the right direction, and should arrive at the castle by July. Fuck.

“Don’t really like radishes, personally,” Potter was muttering, and Draco ground his teeth together. The constant chatter was beginning to wear on his nerves.

“I suppose you prefer starving, do you?” he asked, snapping the map before folding it closed.

“For a day or two? I’ve had worse.”

“It’s better to be prepared.”

“I know that. But we are prepared, aren’t we?” Potter argued, matter-of-factly. “Wouldn’t it just make this whole thing harder if the pack weighed a ton, on top of it?”

Draco paused, turning to face Potter. He was a little pink-faced from the late spring heat. It wasn’t unbearable, since they were shaded by the forest, but he was also carrying said pack, his back bent under its weight. And Draco felt a fool. That was basic magic, why had it taken him so long to think of it? Drawing his wand, he aimed, trying to ignore the wary narrowing of deep green eyes. 

“Turn around,” he ordered. “I’ll make the pack lighter.” He expected Potter would argue, refuse to trust Draco behind him with a wand trained on him, but his eyes widened with understanding and he spun on his heel, presenting the pack. “There,” he said, tucking his wand up his sleeve. “Now, whenever we pass anything edible, put it in the pack.”

“Yes, sir!” When he turned, Potter was grinning, and Draco felt that clench, again. So he scowled and turned away. 

“Come along.” In his haste, Draco didn't hear the rustling of a shrub to his right, or the snap of a twig nearby. But he heard Potter’s cry. 

“Draco, look out!” 

-

The underbrush rustled again, and Harry leapt forward, pushing Draco aside to place himself between him and the ominous movement. He drew his wand, trained it on the shrub, and waited for the beast to reveal itself, a litany of defensive spells running through his mind. When the leaves parted, all he could do was stare, his mind instantly blank. 

A small, black nose poked its way free, followed by a long, slinky, blue body. Little paws padded forward, hesitantly and blue lightning crackled in the air around it. Harry felt his head tilt as he studied the little creature, and Draco bent to see around him. 

And laughed. 

The clear, delighted sound shook Harry from his daze and he frowned. “It could be dangerous!” he warned, as Draco nudged him aside and dropped to his knees in front of it. 

“Yes, Potter. It could be wildly dangerous,” he scoffed, reaching forward to run two fingers over its head. It tossed that head into his touch, reminding Harry of Mrs Figg’s cats. “Poor little bloke,” Draco murmured, fully scratching its ears now. “Did the big, bad, Saint Potter scare you?” 

“Draco.” But Harry sighed when Draco lifted the fur ball from the ground and stood. “What is it?” he asked. “I've never seen a blue ferret, before…”

“It isn't a ferret, you idiot. It's a Raiju.”

“A Raichu?” Harry frowned. “Like the Pokémon?”

“The what?” Draco asked, one pale eyebrow winging up. “What the hell is that?” 

“Sorry, Muggle thing. What is it?” 

“A Raiju. Don't you pay attention? Hagrid taught us about them, as did Lupin. They're magical creatures who produce lightning. But it's Japanese, I don't know what it's doing here.”

“On holiday?” Harry quipped, eyeing the odd little creature as it attempted to claw its way up Draco's chest. 

“Doubtful. All right, little one, we have to get going.” He knelt to set it down, chuckling when it darted a quick circle around him before disappearing the way it came. “Come along, Potter. It's nearly nightfall.” 

Surprised, Harry looked up at the canopy. It was almost dark in the forest, but that was to be expected within the dense foliage. What he could see of the sky was quickly darkening as well, though, so he fell into step behind Draco, hoping they'd find a clearing before dusk. 

-

It wasn't long after they started moving again that Draco realised they had company. The Raiju frolicked along, scampering through the underbrush as if through water, its lithe body flashing in the increasing darkness. Chuckling at the memory of Potter’s reaction, Draco simply carried on trudging through the forest at a steady pace until they reached a clearing where moonlight streamed in soft spears to light their path. 

Without a word, Potter shucked the canvas pack, rolling his shoulders before he bent to remove the dreaded tent. It was uncomfortably small, not magically extended like every other tent Draco had the misfortune to utilise. He wasn't ashamed to admit that he detested camping. What was the point of sleeping away from the comforts of society? It was made worse by the fact that they were, apparently, expected to camp like Muggles. 

Shuddering, Draco sat to wait for Potter to construct the tent. He summoned the pack from Potter’s side and dug out his assignments, then transfigured a nearby stump into a writing desk. Kneeling before it, he squinted in the moonlight and jotted “ _ Accio _ ” under the growing list of practical charms he'd used so far, as well as a handful of others. When he finished, he moved on to transfiguration. Satisfied with his progress, he shuffled through the stack until he reached Care of Magical Creatures and wrote “Raiju” just as the little creature showed itself, again. 

“There you are, handsome.” Reaching down, Draco patted the soft head, trailing his hand to stroke the slim body. 

He really was a beautiful specimen; sleek fur a periwinkle blue, his claws sharp and of a good length, which meant he was active enough. He was slim, but not scrawny, and he was more playful than timid, which indicated he was not familiar with humans, wizarding or otherwise. When Draco withdrew his hand, two small paws planted themselves on his thigh for a moment before the little beast leapt onto his lap, startling a laugh from him. 

“Yes, yes. I like you, too,” he chuckled.

“Draco?” Potter called, exiting the now standing tent. “Did you say something?” Brushing his hands on his jeans, he lifted his head, then froze. 

“Close your mouth, Potter. We have company.” He scratched at the Raiju’s ears, pleased when a deep, rumbling purr sounded from his chest. 

“It could still be dangerous,” Potter muttered, as he marched forward to collect the pack and his own assignments. “I think you should leave it outside.”

“ _ He  _ is perfectly harmless, Potter.”

“He's got lightning coming from him!” 

As if on cue, the little bugger stood up on his haunches, the crackling static around him intensifying menacingly. 

“Yes, I believe he's aware,” Draco laughed. Potter glared, though, and he conceded the point. This wasn't the first animal Draco had been refused in his life. “Very well, we'll sleep outside, tonight. I'm sure he'll go about his way, tomorrow.”

“You?” Potter asked, incredulous. “ _ You  _ are going to sleep outside?” 

Draco thought for a moment, affecting a pensive expression as he gazed at the little blue creature, who had settled in a ball on his lap. “I suppose you're right. I certainly don't  _ want  _ to sleep outside.”

“I didn't think so-” 

“Wonderful.” Rising, he made his way to the tent. “Then it's settled. Ju-ju and I will take the tent. I suggest you build a decent fire.”

Smirking, Draco left Potter sputtering in the clearing and ducked into the tent. 

-

“Ju-ju?” Harry asked the surrounding forest. 

This was not going to plan. First, he had to go and make a fool of himself, trying to save Draco from the evil ferret, and now the damn thing was sleeping in the tent. Not that he'd mind, of course. Harry liked animals, he just… Preferred animals who weren't likely to electrocute him in his sleep. And the morning had begun with such promise. 

Groaning, he picked up the pack and set it on the little desk Draco made, rooting around for the chilled food pouch. Bypassing the radishes they'd collected, he pulled out the ingredients for a simple stir fry then thought better of it and added one to the pile of vegetables. He levitated twigs and branches from just beyond the ring of trees and maneuvered them into a suitable fire pit, lighting it with a mild Incendio. He made a mental note to add the spell to his list. 

As the fire heated, he set to chopping vegetables, grumbling to himself between Aguamenti and Scourgify castings to rinse and scrub the food. Draco emerged from the tent, dressed in soft looking pyjamas - not the pair he'd worn the night before - and settled himself before the fire, just as Harry was adding chunks of chicken to a pan over the fire. As he tipped his hand, a chunk lifted itself and sailed the short distance to Draco, who caught it and offered it to “Ju-ju,” smiling when it snapped the morsel from his fingers. 

“‘Collect the radishes, Potter,’” Harry mimicked, under his breath. “‘We might run out, Potter. Better safe than sorry, Potter.’” Louder, he asked, “How much d’you suppose a Raichu eats?” 

“They aren't terribly large, Potter,” Draco answered, an airy quality to his voice that reminded Harry of Luna. “They don't eat much, and Ju-ju will hunt, on his own.”

“Not if you keep feeding him...”

“Hmm?” 

“Dinner should be a bit,” Harry said, stirring the chicken to brown it. “Have you finished your lists?” 

“Oh, yes. Wou- er… Would you like help with yours?”

Harry's head whipped around to face Draco. He had his head bent, a flush clear on his cheekbones in the firelight. “Yeah,” he breathed. “Yeah, I'd- I'd like that. Thank you.”

“It's nothing. You've cooked every meal, and I'm not about to start. It's the least I can do.” Rising, he deposited the Raiju on the stump he vacated and moved to the little desk, pushing the chopped vegetables aside to make space. 

“Right now?” Harry asked. 

“Yes. You tell me what to write and I'll write it.”

Grinning, Harry turned to stir the chicken, again. “Sounds great, Draco. Thanks.”

“Well,” Draco sniffed, but he sounded just a bit uncomfortable with the gratitude. “It's better than staying up after dinner, isn't it?”

“Yes.”

One by one, Draco flipped through Harry's assignments, listing the spells he'd used and filling in the blanks where he'd forgotten. When Ju-ju came sniffing at Harry's ankle, he dropped bits of undercooked meat, as well as some vegetables, just to see if he'd like them. He didn't. By the time they'd finished, dinner was almost ready, so Draco stowed the assignments and relocated to his previous spot, near the fire. 

“I suppose that's why we were paired for this,” he said, crossing his legs and tucking his hands between them. “I know I'd never survive the week if I had to cook for myself.”

“You can't cook?” Harry asked, before remembering. “Of course, house elves.”

“Right in one.”

“I'm sure you could, if you tried. It seems similar to potions…” 

“I doubt that,” Draco scoffed. “You're still pants at potions, even though you're a passable cook.”

“Passable?” Summoning two plates from the pack, Harry removed the pan from the fire and tipped the contents onto them, passing one to Draco as he went to collect forks. One had only to summon cutlery once. 

“Decent,” Draco revised, smirking when Harry handed him a fork. He filled the fork, lifting it to his lips, and groaned. 

“Decent, indeed,” Harry laughed, dropping to the ground beside him and propping his plate on his knee. 

They ate in silence, both periodically dropping bits of meat for the Raiju and chuckling when his lightning crackled a little brighter in pleasure. When all that remained of their dinner was vegetables, he climbed into Draco’s lap, curled into a little blue ball, and promptly fell asleep. Harry watched Draco as he chewed thoughtfully, his eyes on the sky above. It was so easy to hope, in that moment. From the night before, he knew Draco would clean the plates and forks as soon as they finished eating, while Harry banked the fire. They would enter the tent and putter around until there was nothing left to do but sleep. Hopefully, one day, there would be something else to do in the dark, after dinner.

Sighing, he followed Draco’s gaze. The starry sky. It was a view he’d seen a million times over the last eight years; comforting in its familiarity, yet still so mysterious. Astronomy wasn’t Harry’s specialty, but it did hold a certain wonder for him. Until he was eleven years old, he had never actually seen the sky at night. There were no windows in his cupboard, and why would there be? Midnight classes in the astronomy tower were exhilarating, and this was no different. 

Beside him, Draco gasped and Harry didn’t think anything of it, at first. When he looked down, there was a glassy sort of expression clouding the vibrant eyes, and a frown marred Draco’s brow.

“Draco?” he asked quietly, irrationally afraid to break the stillness of the night. “What is it?”

But Draco shook his head, tapping something out with his fingers as his eyes roved, unseeing, over the stars. “Location,” he said, absently. “We can’t use a location spell, but we could use a potion. Adder’s fork, powdered octopus, yes… There was- of course!”

“What is it?” Harry asked, again, scowling, now. 

“That’s the potion we’re meant to make, Potter! A locator!”

“A what? I thought location magic wouldn’t work here.”

Draco’s eyes sparkled with his epiphany. “The spell won’t, but a potion would!”

“And we have the ingredients for that?” 

“No. I told you already, there aren’t enough ingredients for any potion I know, but the most difficult to find are there. We’ve only to find the rest and we’ll be able to find our way through the forest!” He all but leapt to his feet, dislodging the Raiju, who let out a piteous chirrup at the mistreatment.

“Draco, wait!” Harry called, as he started toward the edge of the clearing. “Where are you going? We can’t search for potions ingredients in the dark!”

Thankfully, that stopped Draco in his tracks and he turned, heading back to the fire and Harry’s side. “You’re right. I’m going to bed. Come along, Ju-ju.” He bent to retrieve the offended rodent then strode to the tent, disappearing behind the opening and leaving Harry to deal with the dishes. Fantastic.

-

“Newt eyes?” Potter called, climbing back up from the bank of the river to where Draco sat.

Draco closed his eyes, letting the sound of the water, the wind passing through the leaves above and around them, and the cheerful chirping of nearby birds chip away at his growing unease. He’d woken that morning curled around Potter, with the Raiju sleeping peacefully between them. Thankfully, he slept through Draco wriggling free and scrambling to the other side of the tent; it was awkward enough without Potter becoming aware of the awkwardness.

“Yes, Potter,” he sighed. “The eyes of a newt.”

He came to a stop a foot away, cocking a hip and leveling a hard look at Draco. “We have to catch and kill a newt?” 

“That’s the idea, yes.”

“Hermione’s going to fail this task… Draco, I don’t thi-”

Draco groaned, rolling his eyes, and brought a hand up to shield them from the sun. “You can kill a dark wizard but not a little amphibian?”

“The newt never hurt anyone, Draco!” Potter crossed his arms over his chest, scowling. “Why don’t you do it?”

“Because,” Draco said, tilting his chin imperiously. “You’re collecting the ingredients. I’m brewing the potion.”

“Oh, please!” he scoffed. “You don’t want to do it, either!”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” But Draco paused, considering the point of lying. “I’ve never had to kill a newt before,” he admitted, lowering his eyes and turning away, slightly. Smug was not a good look for Potter. “They’ve always been provided.”

“Right. Well, what are we going to do then?”

“One of us will have to…” He didn’t particularly want to think about it. Even a creature as inconsequential as a newt was more that he’d ever wanted to kill. Sucking in a deep breath, he turned to face Potter, squaring his shoulders. “Find a newt. I’ll do it.”

“Draco-”

“Just do it, Potter.” 

The sudden pressure of little paws landing on his leg drew Draco’s attention. Ju-ju was dancing circles over his thigh, his lightning crackling excitedly, a bit of something hanging out of his mouth. As Draco watched in horror, the little beast dropped the offering onto his lap, then sat back, clearly pleased with himself.

“I was just going to say, I think Ju-ju has saved us the trouble,” Potter said, his eyes twinkling with amusement in the late morning sunlight.

Nose wrinkled in disgust, Draco glanced down at the remaining upper half of a newt corpse, then back up to the proud supplier. “Thank you, Ju-ju. We appreciate your help.” He patted the blue head, laughing when Ju-ju butted his head into it before scampering off again.

“You do know he’ll never leave, now, right?” Potter asked, dropping to sit beside him. “It was bad enough you named him, and then you had to go and feed him.”

“He won’t want to leave the forest,” Draco assured him, opting to levitate the newt off his lap, rather than touch it. “And even if he did, I wouldn’t mind. I’m quite fond of him.”

“I can see that.” Absently, he flicked his wrist, sending a small rock sailing into the air and toward the river before releasing it to drop into the water with a splash. Leaning back, he crossed his legs at the ankle, propped himself on one elbow, and did it again.

Draco watched, captivated. The casual use of wandless magic, the long, lean body stretched out beside him, the dark, messy head unbearably close to his hip… Alone in the Forbidden Forest with Harry Potter was the last place he ever wanted to find himself ever since the first time, seven years before. Granted, he was generally more fearful of very different circumstances, but this was definitely more than he felt capable of dealing with. Potter sighed, and Draco dragged his gaze away, feigning interest in the process of removing newt eyes, just in case.

“What are they for?” Potter asked. When Draco looked, his head was tilted back so he could see, light glinting off glass and causing Potter to squint. He gestured to the mutilated corpse Draco still held, when he didn’t answer. “For the potion,” he elaborated. “Why does it call for newt eyes? It’s a little cliché, isn’t it?”

“Do you pay attention in any subject, or is Potions special, for some reason?” Draco smirked. “Where do you think the cliché comes from?”

“Muggles who thought they had any idea what magic is like?”

“That’s a fair guess, but no. Centuries ago, Muggles had a better understanding of magic. They lived side by side, Muggles and wizards.” As he spoke, Draco set about, uncomfortably, removing the dead newt’s eyes, summoning a phial from the pack to store them. “So, even though their understanding still wasn’t complete, they got a few things right. Newt eyes are a standard ingredient in potions, I’m sure you’ve noticed.” Potter snorted, but Draco ignored him, capping the phial, then sweeping his gaze over their little campsite. “They’re inherently magical, amphibians. They’re unique creatures since they can live on land and in water, so they were an obvious choice in potion making.”

Potter grunted his understanding. Laying back, he crossed his arms under his head and closed his eyes. From the edge of his vision, Draco watched him.

“You really know your potions,” he said, shifting slightly on the hard ground. “I suppose you’ll become Potions Master, like Snape?”

“I’ve considered it.” Content in the moment, and with their progress, Draco decided it would be okay to rest a bit longer. He drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, loosely. “I’m not sure I’d do very well, though.”

“Why not? You’re brilliant!”

“Well, I won’t deny that, but I’m still a Malfoy. Society won’t be quick to forgive…”

“Probably not. But!” Apparently unable to remain still for more than a few moments, Potter reared up, crossing his legs and reaching forward to pluck a blade of grass to fiddle with, as he spoke. “You can always prove them wrong.”

“I intend to, of course. But, that doesn’t guarantee I’ll ever be well received.”

“I suppose. I think you will be, but it’s probably best to plan for the worst.”

“Another dark lord rising?” Draco asked, grinning when Potter laughed.

“We should always be prepared for that,” he said, nodding sagely. “Just in case.”

“Just in case.” Rising, Draco brushed his hands on his trousers, then offered one to help Potter to his feet. “We should get moving. There are a few more ingredients we still need, and the potion will take a full day to brew.”

“Right. What's next on the list?” 

With Ju-ju weaving in and out of the surrounding brush, Draco periodically consulting the map and cross checking his calculations and star charts, and Potter trudging along, trailing his hand over ivy and the moss that covered tree trunks, they picked their way slowly through the forest. Draco kept an eye open for the ingredients they needed, focusing on the pale green flowers and pleated, fanning leaves of lady's mantle. They had passed some over the past few days - before he knew they would need it. 

“Why is called lady's mantle?” Potter asked, stepping over the protruding root of great oak. 

“Because it looks like a woman's headdress,” Draco muttered, distractedly. “It's rather common, it shouldn't be so difficult to find.”

“What about that?” 

Draco followed the line of Potter’s pointing finger to the large, bright green shrub with spearing purple flowers, a meter to their left. He scoffed. “That's lavender. You really are terrible at this, aren't you?” 

“Just trying to help,” Potter huffed, shoving his hands into his pockets, and Draco smiled. 

“I know you are. Thank you. Lavender does look like something a queen would wear…”

“It does,” he laughed. “So, what does lady's mantle look like then?”

“Its leaves are dark and broad,” Draco explained, eyes on the map again. They had to find the plant, but they should keep heading toward the castle too. “And it has tiny, pale green flowers without any petals.”

Potter darted ahead suddenly, drawing Draco's attention. “Like this?” he asked.

“No, Harry! Don't touch that!” Draco shouted, but he was already taking a stem in his hand and thrusting it forward, for inspection. “You idiot! That's Devil's Trumpet! And the flowers are white, damn it!”

He released it instantly, lifting his hands away from the plant and flicking his eyes, wide with panic, to Draco's. “What's Devil's Trumpet, exactly?” 

Draco knelt, digging through the pack and muttering under his breath. “It's related to Devil's Snare. We learned about it six bloody months ago, for fuck’s sake.” 

“I- is it deadly?” 

Lifting his gaze, he found Potter dancing in place, his face pale and eyes wary on the Devil's Trumpet. “No. But it's going to fuck with your head for a few hours; we don't have an antidote and it isn't a poison, so the bezoar won't help. Gods, you're thick.”

Potter didn't appear to be listening, anymore. He reached a hand out, back toward the plant, with a look of wonder on his face and Draco darted forward. Catching that hand, he turned Potter to face him, swearing. His pupils were already dilated, and he had a lopsided grin on his face. 

“It's pretty,” he said, slumping forward, a little. “Shiny. But you're shinier.”

He lifted a hand, stretching it toward Draco's hair, only to be batted away. “Fantastic. This is exactly what we need. Come along, Potter. Let's get you somewhere safe.” 

Looping an arm around his waist, Draco hauled him away from the malevolent shrub and continued the way they were headed. There should be a clearing a short trek ahead. He'd just have to set up camp himself. If he could get Potter to sleep, Draco would find the rest of the ingredients on his own. 

-

Hallucinations. Draco said they were hallucinations, Harry reminded himself. He only  _ thought  _ he saw a blue ferret draped over Draco's shoulders… Surely that was one of the hallucinations. He didn't like animals, everyone knew that. After what happened with Buckbeak? No one would expect Draco Malfoy to allow that little thing near him. And the lightning would ruin his hair. 

Groaning, Harry slumped sideways against the trunk of a tree, wrapped his arms around it. “I'm so glad you're here,” he said, then laughed when the moss under his cheek giggled. Looking back to where Draco was setting up a cauldron, he sighed. “Isn't he pretty?” he asked the moss. “All sharp and shiny. I wanna kiss him, but he'd prob’ly cut me…”

The moss wriggled against his skin and Harry took that as agreement. “You know,” Harry murmured, rubbing his cheek over it, marveling at the softness. “You're very pretty, too. And soft. You wouldn't cut me.”

“Harry?” a voice interrupted, just as Harry tilted his chin toward the tree. “Stop chatting up the trees, will you?”

Confused, Harry turned toward the voice, jolted. At his knees, gazing at him with beady, concerned eyes nestled in blue fur, sat Ju-ju, one small paw resting on his jeans. 

“Harry?” he asked again and, again, Harry jolted. 

“Does Draco know you can talk?” he demanded, watching the little head tilt in confusion. 

“What are you talking about? Oh.” A foot, clad in thick, stiff leather, nudged the Raiju away and a hand dropped to Harry's shoulder, drawing his attention up. “Come on, you should eat something.”

“What if it tries to eat me?” Harry asked, giggling until he thought more on the possibility. His eyes widened, and his pulse jumped. “Draco, what if it eats me?” 

“It's okay, Harry,” Draco assured him, in Ju-ju’s voice, with laughing eyes. “I'll protect you.”

Nodding, Harry allowed himself to be hauled to his feet, only stumbling a little. They walked past the cauldron and he bent to peer inside, whining when Draco pulled him away. “I wanna see!” he protested. “What are you making? Is it a love potion?” The idea delighted him, and he giggled again. “Are you going to seduce me, Draco? You don't need a potion.” He draped an arm over Draco's shoulders, leaning into him and confessing, “I already love you.”

“That's enough, Potter. Stop talking.” That was Draco's voice, Harry was pleased to note. “Once you've eaten, you need to sleep, okay? The hallucinogen has nearly run its course, now you just need sustenance and rest.”

“Are you gonna sleep with me?” Harry asked, vague memories of warm arms around him flitting through his mind. “I like when you sleep with me. You aren't sharp when you're asleep.”

Draco was quiet for a moment, his jaw clenching, before he glanced at Harry. “I suppose it couldn't hurt. But only if you eat.”

“You got it, mate.”

Grunting, Draco helped him to sit, shoving a plate under his nose before he stopped weaving, and then sat beside him. It was nearly dark, and the dying sunlight sent shadows skittering over the trees surrounding their small clearing. This one was tiny, Harry thought, shuddering as it seemed to grow smaller as he watched. He lowered his eyes to his plate, he steadfastly ignored the shifting shapes he could see from the corner of his eye. His head was aching, a dull pounding picking up speed, and he gasped at the sensation. 

“What is it?” Draco asked, bending to see his face. 

“My head,” Harry groaned, bringing one hand up to finger at his scar. “Voldemort must be happy.” His tone was bitter, angry, but his face cleared, morphing into something closer to confusion. “Where's Hermione?” he asked, looking around. “Has Ron come back, yet? The horcruxes! We need to-” 

“Harry, Harry!” Draco pleaded, rubbing circles into his back. “Relax, Harry. The war is over, Voldemort is gone.”

His voice was low, soothing, and Harry wanted to do what he said, but it was Draco Malfoy. Beautiful and deadly, like the snake he was. “What are you doing here?” he asked, jerking back. Malfoy was the last person he expected to see in the Forest of Dean. He whipped his head around, shifting shadows taking shape, until he was surrounded by tall, hooded figures in bone white masks. “What have you done?” he shrieked, lurching to his feet. “Why would you bring them here? You saved me!”

“Harry!” Malfoy cried, standing and holding a hand out to halt him. “You’re hallucinating, Harry. No one else is here. We’re in the Forbidden Forest. We're taking a N.E.W.T.s exam.” 

As he spoke, his other hand moved to the folds of his robes. Mind whirling, Harry drew his own wand, a disarming spell on the tip of his tongue, when the first Avada Kedavra rang through the air, a blinding green flash sending Harry ducking to the ground and throwing his hands over his head. A twig snapped a foot from his nose and he looked up at the figure towering over him, an ugly sneer twisting his aristocratic features.

“The Dark Lord sends his best wishes,” Lucius Malfoy snarled, leveling his wand at Harry’s head. “ _ Avada Kedavra!” _

-

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Draco cried, lifting his wand. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what else to do!  _ Petrificus Totalus! _ ”

At his feet, Harry stopped moving, his limbs snapping to his sides, his body suddenly rigid. Draco bent to turn him to his back and panicked eyes stared up at him through skewed glasses. Sighing, he levitated Harry to the sagging tent, mere feet away, avoiding looking at him as much as possible. He never quite tried to imagine what Harry and the others had experienced the previous year, and for good reason. The fear and desperation in his eyes, in his voice, were more than Draco could handle… 

He slowly lowered Harry to the floor of the tent, then turned to pull a sleeping potion from the pack. It wasn’t much, but he hoped it would help get them through the last few hours before the Devil’s Trumpet wore off. Prising his mouth open, Draco poured the fluids down his throat - first water, then the Dreamless Sleep - and watched Harry’s eyes until they fluttered closed. Then he sat back and allowed the tears to fall.

Fuck, that was awful. It hadn’t been so bad, initially; he was easily distracted by movement, visions only he could see, but Draco had begun to think they could get through it with relative ease. He should have known better. Harry was a war hero, a war victim. He’d barely survived and, if Draco’s own experiences were any indication, he certainly didn’t have many good memories from that time. And they were still fresh, still painful; there was no conceivable way they weren’t. 

Glancing to the still form in the darkness, Draco slowly deflated. Bad as it was, it was over. Harry would sleep off the rest of the effects. While he’d been still investigating every light source and tree creature, and flirting with most, Draco was able to collect enough dandelion roots and lady’s mantle for the potion, but he wouldn’t be able to start it until morning, now. He gulped in a breath, then another, scrubbing at his face, and did something he wouldn’t allow himself to do when Harry was unencumbered. He stretched out beside him, wrapped an arm around his waist, and laid his head on one broad shoulder.

Judging by Harry’s earlier admission, he wouldn’t mind, and Draco needed the tactile reminder that he was there, alive, safe. He’d spent so much time, throughout the war, throughout his life, wondering where Harry was, whether he was safe, whether he was happy. Whether he thought the same of Draco… He knew that each of those was unlikely, but Draco could keep him safe now, and would. For however long he could. 

Remembering the spell, he murmured “ _ Finite,” _ and sighed when Harry shifted in his sleep, turning into Draco and returning his embrace. It was hours, still, before he fell asleep himself. 

-

Harry woke with a start. His mind felt foggy, his mouth arid, and a dull ache pounded behind his eyes. His heart raced, as did his mind; panic coiled in angry knots in his gut as he swiveled his head around, memories clouding his vision. Death Eaters, Lucius Malfoy, the killing curse. And Draco, in the Forest of Dean. That couldn’t be right; Draco wasn’t in that forest with him… it must have been a dream. Or a hallucination, he thought, remembering the previous day’s events. Fucking Devil’s Trumpet.

A weight on his chest, and a soft murmur, alerted him to Draco’s presence and he smiled, despite the pain in his… everything. Carefully, Harry adjusted his position, reaching both arms around him, holding him tight while he could. If he followed the pattern of the last few days, Draco would move away as soon as he woke, but Harry wanted this, wanted to feel him against his side, to smell his hair and see his face, softened in sleep. Any guilt he felt over withholding the extension charm Hermione taught him was washed away, that first night, when Draco curled himself around Harry in the close quarters of the tent. He knew he’d have to extend it, eventually, or deal with the consequences of leaving the charm off his list. But that was still days off; he’d come up with a suitable explanation by then.

“Harry?” Draco’s voice asked, still sleepy, and Harry jolted. “How- how are you feeling?” Disentangling one arm, he lifted it to Harry’s face, feeling his forehead and cheeks. “Do you know where you are? What day it is? I imagine your head is pounding like mad.”

“Yes, it is that,” Harry confirmed, grabbing Draco’s hand when it fluttered around his face for another round. “So, if you could just-”

“Oh, there’s a potion for that!” Pulling away, he crawled to the pack and dug out a phial, then crawled back. “It’s not a hangover potion, which is really what you need, but it should help,” he said, uncorking the phial and passing it to Harry. “And the rest?” he asked again. “The day, where you are?”

Harry swallowed the potion, sighing when it sang through his blood, relieving countless, inconsequential aches and quieting the noise in his head. Flopping onto his back, he threw an arm over his eyes. “We’re in the Forbidden Forest,” he answered. His voice sounded like he hadn’t used it in days. Or like he’d been screaming all night. “We’re taking an exam. Don’t know the day, though.”

“You’re a fucking moron,” Draco scolded, swatting at his shoulder, but he seemed more relieved than anything. “I can’t believe you’ve lived this long.”

“What’s Devil’s Trumpet?” Harry asked, turning his head to look into worried grey eyes. He looked about ready to cry, until he realised he was being watched, then the shutters went up.

“It’s a plant, related to Devil’s Snare. Only, instead of suffocating you, it causes hallucinations that generally lead its victims to kill themselves by way of sheer stupidity.”

“Ah. And I touched it.”

“And you fucking touched it, you imbecile!” Crossing his arms and legs, petulantly, Draco glared at him. “You scared the fuck out of me.”

Harry smirked, slipping a hand onto one sharp knee and squeezing. “I worried you?” he asked, trying to reel it back to a small smile. “I’m sorry.”

“I wasn’t worried; I thought you were going to kill me.”

Shadowy figures and flashes of green light, pale hair and a sneering mouth rushed through Harry’s mind. He recoiled slightly. “I’m sorry,” he said again, and shuddered. “I won’t make that mistake, again.”

“Good.”

Draco squirmed where he sat, a look of discomfort crossing his features. “What?” Harry asked. “Is there something else?”

“What? No! No, it’s just…” The discomfort intensified, Draco’s arms shifting to hold himself, rather than convey disapproval. “You said… something. Last night. And I- I just don’t know what to-”

“What did I say?” His eyes trained on Draco, Harry watched for some clue, some indication of the level at which he’d fucked up. “Can I take it back?”

Wide grey eyes met his, stilling his heart for a beat. “Do you want to?”

“I don’t know. Do I want to?” He rose, slowly, to sit opposite Draco. “If I insulted you, I’m-”

“You didn’t insult me, Potter, you-” Draco’s shoulders slumped, and he buried his face in his hands. “Never mind. It’s nothing.”

“Nothing?” Harry asked, frowning. His voice echoed in his mind, followed closely by the scent of citrus. 

_ You don't need a potion. I already love you. _

Shit. Love? That was… maybe a bit sudden. His mind racing, Harry looked at him. The pale hair falling loosely over long, slender fingers. Draco's shoulders were hunched against his own apparent mortification. It was clear that was the something he was asking about. 

And Harry's heart swelled in response, his chest aching with the understanding. Draco wanted to know if Harry meant that he loved him. And, in that moment, he didn't doubt it in the least. Draco was strong, willing to better himself, willing to adapt to the changing world around him. And Harry knew. 

If he didn't love him then, he surely would before long. 

Taking a chance, he reached forward to pull Draco’s hands from his face, meeting his eyes again. “I said a lot of things yesterday,” he whispered. “Some of them to giggling moss on the trunk of a tree. I don’t intend to take back those things. But I’m sorry I shouted at you, when I thought there were Death Eaters…”

“No! No, Harry, it wasn’t- it was before that. And you don’t have to-” He broke off with a sigh, and lifted his hands again – this time cupping them around Harry’s face. 

Before he could ask what was going on, soft, warm lips were covering his, tentative, and trembling slightly. Harry froze. A cloud of citrus and man engulfed him, the smooth skin of Draco’s lips, the contrast of rough hands against his face, the tension of months of longing sliding away. But, it was over too quickly; Draco withdrew shaking hands, his face pale, fear and lust swirling in the depths of his eyes. Without a thought, Harry surged forward, burying a hand in sleep mussed hair, and dragged him close again, claiming those lips. Draco gasped, but responded immediately. His hands flew to Harry’s shoulders, his back arched as he unfolded long legs and climbed into Harry’s lap. 

“Don’t you ever do that again,” Draco snarled, his hands flying over Harry’s chest, down to grasp the hem of his shirt, ripping it over his head. “You could have died, you prat! That could have been anything!”

“I’m sorry.” Righting his glasses, Harry snaked an arm around his waist and twisted, flipping them. Draco’s legs wrapped around his waist and Harry rolled his hips, grinding their cocks together and throwing his head back on a groan. “God, Draco, you drive me mad.”

“I- I do?” His hips canted up, seeking friction, even as his cheeks coloured, a deep red streaking across his nose. “I don't mean to; I've been trying to leave you alone, all year.”

“Believe me, I've noticed,” Harry growled. Reaching between them, he fumbled with the clasp of Draco's trousers, his fingers slipping under the waistband, pulling a startled gasp from him. “It's infuriating.”

“Why? I- you hate me.” The flush deepened at Harry's laugh, at his fingertips stroking the thin trail of hair beneath his navel. “You  _ used  _ to hate me,” he insisted, lifting his hips to help Harry slide the trousers over them, gasping when the hands lingered over the globes of his arse.

Rising onto his knees, Harry maneuvered Draco’s long, slender legs so he could pull the material away, his gaze lingering on each and every inch of pale skin as it was revealed. “I used to be a child,” he said. “I used to wonder why I wanted to punch you one minute and kiss you the next.” 

Slowly, he trailed his fingertips up, over Draco’s legs, over the tight black pants he wore, feather light as they moved, until they reached his shirt. Draco was panting, his hips undulating with mindless desire, and it took everything Harry had to continue his path upward, to pinch open the buttons of his shirt and spread it wide. He wanted to look, to drink in all of him, before tasting. The thin, pale scars that crisscrossed his chest gave Harry pause, though. He’d apologised already, but the sight of them was jarring nonetheless. Bending forward, he ghosted his lips over them, from collarbone to hip, hoping to convey his regret in that simple gesture. 

“Harry,” Draco breathed, one hand slipping into his hair and tugging, gently. “It’s okay. I forgave you a lon-”

“I know,” Harry murmured against his skin, brushing his lips over pebbled nipples. Captivated, he closed them over one, swirling his tongue over the peak and groaning when Draco’s hand tightened, when his back arched. He sealed his lips, sucking as he pushed the shirt over his shoulders. 

“Harry!” he cried

His hands found Harry’s hips, dragging them close, again. When Harry pumped them, shifting his weight to find the right angle, Draco moaned, long and low in his throat. Those long legs closed around his waist again, locked there, and Harry thrust, a slow, teasing rhythm that had panting gasps falling from Draco’s lips, even as his head fell back against the floor of the tent. Long, slender fingers slid from his hips to cup Harry’s arse, kneading, clinging as pleading whimpers replaced the gasps.

Wrenching his lips from the warm, honey sweet skin, Harry braced his arms on either side of Draco’s torso and bent, reaching blindly for a kiss, for a connection. Draco’s hips juddered, a sob slipped into Harry’s mouth, legs tightened around his waist. He was coming, and Harry intended to follow him over that edge. He lowered his hands to grip at rocking hips, to guide the motion until Draco was screaming over the blood beating in his head.

“Harry! Fuck, yes! More, more, more!”

“God, I’m so close,” Harry panted, his tone pleading. “Come on; come with me, Draco.” 

Lowering his head, mindless with his impending orgasm, Harry locked his teeth over Draco’s collarbone, lapping at the pale, supple flesh as his cock throbbed, begging for release. Draco threw his head back, hissing through his teeth, hips jerking against his, and Harry was lost, his mind blanking out, his orgasm tearing through him. When his awareness returned, he slowly removed his teeth, laving at the abused flesh and thrilling in Draco’s mewls and the little twitches still jerking through his frame.

“Gods, Potter,” he panted. “Are you a fucking vampire?”

Harry chuckled, allowing himself to fall forward across Draco’s chest. “Shh,” he said, doing his best to rein in the smirk that wanted to escape. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“Idiot.” But Draco was laughing, swatting at Harry’s shoulders even as he attempted to shimmy out from under him. “Come along, Potter. Since you aren’t going to die of a hallucinogen overdose, we have a potion to brew.”

With a put-upon sigh, Harry followed him from the tent, accepting the pack and the task of pulling out ingredients when Draco called them out. Draco, meanwhile, set about building and lighting a fire. It was touch and go for a while. Harry didn’t know what powdered octopus tentacles looked like, which was problematic when he encountered two different powdered ingredients. 

“No, Potter, that’s scorpion stingers,” Draco sighed, passing the drawer back to him.

“It isn’t my fault they all look the same,” Harry grumbled, retrieving the other drawer and setting it among the others on a stump near Draco. “What next?”

“The, er, dragonfly wings.”

That should be easy enough, Harry thought. Only, there weren’t any in the chest of drawers. “Draco?” he asked, glancing up. “Were we supposed to collect the wings?”

“What?” Draco spun around in his crouched position beside a pile of leaves, nearly as tall as he was. “The recipe doesn’t call for wings…” he said, glaring at Harry.

“You _just_ said it!” Harry protested. “Dragonfly wings.”

“I said dragonfly  _ thorax,  _ Potter,” Draco corrected, frowning. “Didn’t I?”

“Nope.” Crossing his arms, he shook his head. “You definitely said wings."

“Well, I meant wings,” Draco said, distractedly, as he turned back to the leaf pile. “Shit, I mean  _ thorax!” _ he corrected, just as Harry opened his mouth to argue again.

“Right,” he said, instead, selecting the appropriate drawer. “What are you doing?”

“ _ Incendio! _ ” 

“Draco, no!”

The pile of leaves ignited with a great roar, and Draco jumped back a foot. The fire was impressive, but burned out quickly, long before he could levitate the cauldron into place above it. Within five minutes, all that remained was a pile of ash, still billowing smoke. Draco growled in frustration; Harry laughed.

“What the fuck was that?” Draco asked, throwing his hands up and dropping the cauldron to the forest floor with a dull thud. “Did I use too much? What?” he snapped, turning to glare at Harry again, this time with his balled fists on his hips.

At the indignation written plainly across his face, Harry doubled over, holding his sides. “Tha-that was your fire?” he gasped before laughter made speech impossible. “You don’t know how to build a fire?”

“What do you expect, Potter? House elves light the fires. House elves cook, and clean, and light the bloody fires. I can’t do anything, is that what you want to hear?”

Harry sobered, wincing. “That’s not what I-” he tried. 

“This isn’t the same as potions. What am I supposed to do with this?” Draco asked, gesturing to the forest at large. “I don’t know-”

“It’s okay, Draco,” Harry said, raising his hands and approaching him cautiously. “I’ll show you, okay?”

Draco scoffed. “You know how to build a campfire?”

“Well, yeah. I did spend quite a lot of time in a forest last year,” Harry reminded him. “I was bound to pick it up, eventually.”

“Right. I’m sorry, I- I forgot…”

“Hey.” Lifting a hand to his cheek, Harry rubbed at the red splotches there, chuckling when Draco pulled away instinctively. “It’s over, right?”

“Right,” Draco agreed, heaving a resigned sigh. “Okay; show me.”

-

Once the fire was lit, and looked reasonably steady, they got to work. That was easier said than done.

Draco should have known it would be impossible to focus. Even after making a fool of himself, the knowledge of how Harry felt, tasted, refused to leave his mind for more than a few moments at a time. He kept circling around to steal a kiss and Draco was loath to stop him, sinking into the encompassing warmth of his arms, the intoxicating flavour of his lips. Twice, he nearly missed adding an ingredient. That wouldn’t do; they may have a ready supply of lady’s mantle and dandelion roots, but they were only given enough octopus tentacle for one batch. Batting Harry away for the third time in as many minutes, Draco pinched the adder’s fork between his thumb and forefinger, turning away as he dropped it into the cauldron.

“Have you finished grating the dandelion heads?” he asked, peering into the mixture as it turned a clear lavender, the chunk of moonstone glimmering from its depths. “It’s nearly time for it.”

“Roots,” Harry corrected, far closer than Draco expected him to be. When he turned, his nose bumped against the scraggly beard covered chin, and he growled as an arm settled around his waist. The man was far too distracting.

“For fuck’s sake, Potter, can’t you focus for five bloody minutes?”

Harry dropped a kiss to his nose, grinning like the fool he was, and shook his head. “I am focusing,” he insisted, bending to nuzzle at the crook of Draco’s neck. “I’m multi-tasking, even.” 

The hard edge of a bowl pressed against his ribs, and Draco laughed. “You’re incorrigible,” he muttered, shoving Harry away and taking the bowl from him. “The lady’s mantle, Potter. Focus.”

“Right!”

By nightfall - in spite of an hour lost to an impromptu game of chase, wherein Harry tackled Draco to the ground and peppered kisses over his face - all of the ingredients were added; all that was left to do was wait. It would need to simmer all night before he removed it from the flame, around dawn. Then it would have to cool until noon. Gods, they didn’t have time for this.

“That’s it?” Harry asked, swiping his arm across his forehead. “Now what?”

“Now, you make dinner,” Draco answered, dropping to sit cross-legged near the fire. “Chop chop.”

“Ah ha ha, not so fast.” Resting his hands on his hips, Harry glowered down at him. “I’ve been fetching and measuring and bloody  _ chopping _ all day. Get up; you’re helping me.”

“What?” Draco whinged. “You know I can’t cook, Potter.”

“Won’t. You can, and you damn well  _ will. _ ”

He whined, but allowed Harry to pull him to his feet. Together, they returned each drawer to its slot, clearing the mess from the stump they’d used as a chopping board, then Draco lifted his wand to transfigure it into another writing desk, before Harry caught his hand, stilling him.

“I should do it,” he said. “You’ve already added that spell to your list. Let me have a go, yeah?”

Nodding, Draco stepped aside to let Harry cast. By the third attempt, Draco was chuckling. The desk, or what was supposed to be a desk, was edging away as Harry watched, a confused frown furrowing his brow. Quickly, he cast  _ Immobulus _ , then turned to glare at Draco. 

“Okay, fine,” he said, relenting. “What am I doing wrong?”

Still sniggering, Draco stepped closer, standing behind Harry and taking his hand to demonstrate the correct wand movement. Once he seemed to have that well enough in hand, Draco addressed the real issue. “Now, the incantation,” he began, a wry smile curling his lips. “You have to remember conjugation here. This is not a raven, so the incantation for changing a raven to a writing desk won’t work.”

“Shit,” Harry muttered, dropping his head into his empty hand. “I fucking hate conjugation.”

“Everyone does,” Draco assured him, patting him on the back. “Now, do you remember the correct incantation?”

“I think so,” he muttered, lifting his wand, again.

He struggled through the spell a couple more times before he managed it, then bounced on his heels like a first year who finally mastered  _ Wingardium Leviosa. _ It was past dark, by that point, so they worked by firelight. Harry pointed out the various vegetables and told Draco how to prepare them, when to add them. They made a soup; Harry said it was to show him how much like potions cooking was. Somehow, Draco doubted that all cooking was as similar as soup, but he held his tongue, content to let Harry take the lead.

He also doubted he’d find much use in the knowledge, since he was unlikely to be without house elves to prepare his meals, but it was certainly fascinating. As he watched, Harry fried onions down to almost nothing, adding in various herbs and spices, until the heady aroma wafted around the clearing, contained by the protective barrier Harry put up that morning; he said, the first time he did it, that it was to keep the smells and sounds from attracting wild animals, Ju-ju notwithstanding. 

Draco's gaze drifted to the little puddle of periwinkle fur surrounded by leaves, most singed by the ever-present crackle of pale blue lighting, and smiled fondly. He’d disappeared while they worked, that day, but returned just before dark, settling in near the fire. Harry was probably right; there was no way he’d ever be rid of the creature. At that moment, Ju-ju yawned, turning sleepy eyes on Draco, and he couldn’t care less. He even hoped the beast would stay with him. Turning to Harry where he stirred the beginnings of the soup, already thickening with fat and flour, he felt that same possessiveness streak through him. He wanted to keep him once they left the forest, as well, but that was considerably less likely.

“Now, just like the potion,” Harry was saying, lifting his wooden spoon from the concoction and resting it across the top of the pot. “We wait.”

“It has to simmer overnight?” Draco asked, incredulous. 

Harry laughed. “No, just about an hour.”

“Oh, of course.”

“What do you suggest we do until then?” Harry asked, turning and slipping his arms around Draco.

“I might have a few ideas,” Draco replied, smirking. Pulling away, he caught Harry’s hand and led him back to the tent. “Of course, there isn’t much room for it, in there.”

-

“What else?” Harry asked, stepping over the decaying carcass of a small tree in his path.

Draco paused, squeezing his hand and lifting his own to help steady him. “Have you cast an  _ Impervius _ on your boots?”

Glancing down at his feet, Harry winced. “No. They had built in charms when I bought them, so it didn't occur to me.”

“ _ Typical _ .”

“What?”

“That's fine. Here.” When Harry was safely at his side again, Draco shucked the pack from his shoulders and held it out. “You can cast it on this.”

Harry beamed at him, the insult already forgotten, before drawing his wand and casting. “What about you?” 

“I already used it,” Draco smirked, handing Harry the pack and waiting for him to settle it on his shoulders, then taking his hand again. “On my robes, shoes, clothes, and-” 

He broke off, his cheeks flushed a bright red, and Harry laughed. “And what?” he asked in a sing-song tone, swinging his arm and grinning when Draco scowled at him. “Did you spell your pants?” he teased. 

Draco sniffed, lifting his chin, managing to look haughty, in spite of turning the colour of the wild radishes. “Of course I did. As should you.”

“I'll consider it,” Harry said, stifling another laugh. 

“ _ You'd think thisss was your first time out of the cassstle _ .”

“Oh, please. Like you do this kind of thing every day.”

Draco turned to look at him curiously, his eyes narrowed. “Yes, well. I wish I knew the spell to expand the tent. It's bloody cramped, in there.”

“Oh.” Guilt, mild as it was, washed over Harry and he ducked his head, avoiding eye contact. 

“Oh?” he asked, arching a brow. “What do you mean, oh?” 

“Just oh, really. I mean, it's not-” 

“Merlin!  _ You  _ know the spell, don't you?” 

“No! I- er, yes.” Scrubbing the back of his neck, nervously, Harry slid a glance his way to find Draco staring at him, his jaw slackened. 

“You know how to cast an extension charm?” he asked again, disbelief mingling with awe in his eyes. 

“Well, yeah,” Harry nodded. “It's a pretty basic one; Hermione taught me last year. In the other forest.” 

“Right. Of course. And you didn't use it because…?” 

His tone was accusatory, and Harry found himself laughing again. “Reasons,” he said, cryptically, then tugged at Draco's hand to start them moving. 

“Reasons?” 

“Yup. Soft, cuddly reasons.”

“Don't be ridiculous, Potter. You couldn't have known I'd be-”

“Cuddly?” Harry supplied, grinning when Draco blushed again. “Maybe not, but I hoped.”

“You're impossible. You have to extend the tent tonight.”

“Will you still cuddle up to me, if I do?” 

_ “Why don't you ever cuddle me?”  _

Harry ground to a halt. “Okay, what's with you today?” 

“I mean it, Potter. I can only tolerate so much sap. I will hex you.” Draco laughed, pulling on his hand to get them moving again. 

Harry didn't move. He stood there staring at Draco. “You keep saying things that-” 

“ _ Oooh, this is getting interesssting. Do you think he'll eat the ssshiny one? _ ” 

Eat the- wait. Draco was watching him with growing concern. His lips weren't moving. 

“Fuck,” Harry groaned. 

“What? What is it?” Draco asked, bringing a hand up to Harry's forehead. “Are you hallucinating again?”

“What? No.” Harry batted his hand away, looking around at the forest floor. “There's a bloody snake watching us. I thought it was you talking.”

“You thought it was me?” Draco scoffed, folding his arms. “You can't tell the difference between my voice and a snake's?” 

“ _ No, wait! The shiny one is going to eat _ him.”

“No one is eating anyone,” Harry said firmly. 

“Don't count on it,” Draco grumbled, and the snake - snakes?- loosed a round of hissing giggles. 

Harry rolled his eyes. “ _ Do you mind? _ ” he hissed back, still unsure of the snake's location. “ _ This is a private conversation.” _

_ “Looks public to us,”  _ a voice answered in a harsh tone, confirming that there were indeed more than one. 

“ _ Come now, this forest is big enough for all of us, isn't it?” _ Harry asked, trying to reason. He would go mad if those voices kept interrupting their conversation. “ _ Why don't you go hunt or something?”  _

_ “Good idea, human. We are ever so hungry.” _

_ “I'm not hungry. I'm bored.” _

_ “A hunt is exciting.” _

_ “It is. Do you think the shiny one will scream?” _

“Fuck,” Harry said, taking Draco's hand again. “Come on. That didn't help.”

“Harry,” Draco said. His eyes were wide as he looked over Harry's shoulder. “I-is that-?” 

Harry spun around in time to see the enormous snake lift itself off the ground, each of its three heads nodding as it swayed to maintain its balance. It was the colour of sand with orange and black stripes and vicious looking spikes running the length of its body. Its eyes flitted between Harry and Draco, shifting occasionally to look at one another as all three heads giggled again. 

“Shit.” Drawing his wand, Harry shoved Draco behind him and stared the Runespoor down while his mind worked on overdrive. 

“Harry, is that a-” 

“It's a Runespoor, yeah.”

“How do you kill it?” 

“Anything will do, really. Any suggestions?” 

“Don't piss it off?” 

Harry gave a dark, humourless laugh. “They're discussing which of us to eat first. I don't think pissing them off will make a difference.”

“ _ I don't care which we kill firssst, I jussst want to eat the ssshiny one myssself. _ ”

“ _ No one is eating either of us, _ ” Harry spat. “ _ Reducto! _ ”

The curse hit with unexpected force, tearing a chunk from one of the scaly coils and spraying blood across the gnarled roots of the surrounding trees. Behind him, Draco jolted as the hissing shifted from playful to enraged. His hand gripped Harry's arm, jerking him backward when the snake lunged, narrowly missing his ankle. 

“I told you  _ not  _ to piss it off,” Draco cried, aiming his own wand. “ _ Stupefy _ !” 

But the snake was already anticipating another attack and easily dodged the stream of red light. “ _ Ssstupid wizardssss!”  _ it hissed, unwinding its body and slithering closer. “ _ Always killing Les Trois Têtes.” _

“ _ We don't want to kill you!” _ Harry insisted, remembering the reason the Runespoor were valuable in wizarding society. “ _ We have no use for your eggs! We're just trying to get out of the forest!”  _ Brandishing his wand, he backed slowly over roots, trying his best to keep an eye on all three heads. 

“ _ Liesss! Wizardsss brought usss here! We were-” _

_ “Are you going to eat him or talk to him?”  _

Harry frowned. Keeping up with which head was talking was proving difficult. What was it they said about the heads? As he watched, the one on the far right stopped to look at the one on the far left which was still trained on Harry and Draco. Meanwhile, the head in the middle seemed to sway idly between the others. 

“ _ Sssilence! I grow tired of your-”  _

_ “I'm jussst sssaying. If you were really going to eat him, you'd have done it already.” _

_ “Oh, look. The dark one isss watching usss.” _

That voice reminded Harry of the time Luna commentated Quidditch matches; airy and distracted. That was the dreamer. 

“ _ You sssee? He'sss ssstudying usss. Attack him!”  _ The critic.

And the planner- “ _ Quiet! I can't think when you natter on!”  _

Harry had an idea. 

-

There was nothing quite like watching a human talk to snakes. If it wasn't for Harry's solid presence between him and the Runespoor, Draco might forget he wasn't the only person there altogether. 

“Harry, what are you doing?” he asked, uncomfortably eager to hear him speak English again. “Use another spell!”

“I'm trying a theory. The heads of a Runespoor are pretty much incompatible. I think I can get them so focused on each other that we can get away.”

That wasn't actually a bad idea, but it didn't seem to be working. The snake was moving steadily toward them, one head taking the lead. It's movement may have been hampered by the other two heads, but not by much. 

A glance over his shoulder told Draco they were rapidly running out of space for retreat. “Hurry, Harry!”

“Fuck!” Lunging forward, Harry shot off another Reducto, aiming for the advancing head. It darted to avoid the blow. It wasn't a complete loss, though. The middle head exploded, blood and bits of snake flying from it. The other heads turned their attention to Harry, finally seeming to work together as they advanced. “Draco, run! I'll hold it off!”

Harry bolted left, leaving Draco unshielded and with no idea what to do. He should run, obviously. Harry told him to run. But Harry was running and the snake was gaining on him. Without a thought, Draco raced after them, curses flying, most missing. 

“Draco! What are you doing?” 

“ _ Stupefy _ !” Draco cried. 

That made contact, at least. One head hung limply from the join, flopping against the jagged remains of the middle. But it also drew the last head’s attention. Running toward it as he was, Draco was much closer to the beast than Harry was and it took advantage of that, changing direction and starting toward Draco. 

Stumbling to a halt, he backed away a few feet, then turned to run. The snake was faster. It gained speed, uninhibited by the voices and minds of its brothers. Draco darted over roots and around trees, but it didn't help. The snake was still gaining. 

“Damn it, Draco!” Harry shouted. He gave chase, throwing spells and cursing Draco as he went. “I told you to run, you idiot!  _ Reducto _ ! 

Draco jumped, throwing his arms up as a tree exploded to his right. “For fuck’s sake, Potter! Aim!” 

“ _ Immobulus _ !  _ Incarcerous _ !  _ Expelliarmus _ !”

“It doesn't have a wand, Potter!” 

“I fucking know that!” Growling, Harry changed course circling around a small clump of trees and materialising right in front of Draco. “Get down!” 

Draco didn't think. After another step or two, he dove for the ground just as Harry shouted another Reducto. But the snake was on him, closing its massive jaw around Draco's knee. The blast hit it dead on, dragging away the teeth embedded in his flesh and pulling Draco with them. 

With an agonised scream, he was pulled toward the beast, his head flying back. Pain exploded behind his eyes and everything went black.

“Draco!” Harry cried, as if through water. “Fuck! Draco, wake up!” 

-

“Fuck,” Harry groaned when he saw the wound. 

One fang still protruded from Draco's leg at the bottom of a long, deep gash where it had sliced through as the Runespoor was thrown back with the force of his spell. The wound was weeping, blood wetting Draco's dark trousers. 

Harry lifted Draco's head to his lap, wincing when his fingers came away red. His head was more important than his leg, although the gash seemed shallow, so Harry aimed his wand, casting Episkey. Then he turned back to the gash. 

“Fuck,” he muttered again. Shrugging the pack from his shoulders, he rummaged through it for the potions. Surely there was some essence of dittany among them. “Couldn't fucking run when I tell you to. No, had to chase after the bloody thing.” he sighed when the fifth phial he lifted showed the muddy brown liquid Hermione had used to heal Ron's shoulder the year before. “Thank fuck.”

A glance at Draco's face showed paling skin and blue tinged lips. The blood loss was becoming an issue. As quickly as he could, Harry removed the fang, then cut through the soaked trousers and cleaned the wound before applying a few drops of the dittany solution. He watched for a moment while green smoke billowed from Draco's knee, dragging in ragged breaths as he willed his heartbeat to steady, then turned back to the potions. 

That presented another problem. Not a single potion was labeled. Each was, however, in a clear phial and a blessedly different colour. The dittany was familiar, as was the blood-replenishing potion. And it was easy enough to spot; a deep red potion that looked very much like blood itself. 

His hands shaking, he uncorked the potions he knew, tilted Draco's head back, and poured them down his throat. He had to trust they'd work, could do nothing else. But he'd need others. There was likely an antidote to common poisons among them, and he'd need something for the pain.

He shuffled through phials of jet black, emerald, periwinkle, lavender, and teal, wracking his brain for some memory that would aid him. It likely wasn't the black, that was probably a repellent of some kind. The green looked familiar as well; the little bottle brought back memories of a smoking beaker, a burning throat, and the agony of bones growing overnight. 

He set both aside and considered the others for a moment. “Fuck!” Why was he wasting time with this? Wasn't there a bezoar in their supplies? 

Snatching up the pack again, Harry shoved his arm in to the elbow, feeling around for the little chest of drawers that held the potion supplies. Just as his hand grazed smooth wood, Draco took in a gasping breath, coughing as he tried to sit. 

“Draco!” Harry moved immediately to lift Draco's head to his lap again, wincing when he cried out. “I'm sorry, Draco. I'm sure it hurts. Don't try to move. I'm going to find a potion but I need to-” 

Draco was shaking his head, his eyes squeezed shut. “Salve,” he muttered. “Star grass…” 

“Okay, okay. I'll find it.” 

He reached for the pack again, this time searching for a pot that could store a salve. He found two. When he turned back, Draco was tipping the phial of the teal coloured potion to his lips. 

“Wait! What are you-” 

“It- it's okay,” Draco coughed. “Antivenom. That one,” he said, pointing to the little pot in Harry's left hand. Harry looked down at the salve, confused. “That's the star grass, you prat. Could you please-” 

“Right! Right, I'm sorry.” 

He moved back to the wound, now looking several days old, and uncapped the pot. When he smeared the salve over Draco's knee, he sighed, his body going lax under Harry's hand. 

“Thank you,” he murmured and, when Harry looked up again, he was asleep. 

Sitting back on his haunches and heaving a sigh, Harry lifted his gaze skyward. It was midday and Draco was down for the count. But he was alive. 

His hands were shaking again as he replaced everything into their pack. After settling it on his shoulders, he cast a lightening charm on Draco and lifted him as well. The mangled corpse of the Runespoor was already attracting scavengers, so Harry left them to it, sidestepping the mass and continuing through the forest. 

He didn't know where they were anymore, but it hardly mattered. He set Draco down in the center of the first clearing he came to and left him there while he set up wards around the perimeter. When that was done, he built a fire and set up the tent. He'd make something to eat when Draco woke again. 

All that was left to do was wait. 

-

Draco woke slowly, a dull pain coursing through his body. It was manageable, though, so he ignored it, taking in his surroundings instead. It was pitch dark and the sounds of the forest echoed around him, but they were muffled. Inside the tent, then. Groaning, he shifted to sit up, a hand pressed to his head as it began spinning. 

“Draco?” Harry asked, and a rustling sound indicated he was moving closer. “No, don't move. I'll get-” 

“I'm fine, Harry,” Draco assured him. His throat felt raw, adding to the list of pains he was trying to ignore. “Could you get me some water, though?” 

“Yeah, of course.” Harry set a little globe of light floating above their heads before conjuring a glass and filling it. “Easy,” he chided. He held the glass to ensure Draco drank slowly. 

“Thank you. You extended the tent.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, smiling sheepishly. “I wanted to make sure you were comfortable. God knows why. I told you to run, Draco.”

Draco held up a hand to cut off the flow of accusation. “I know. And I didn't. I'm sorry, I'll never save your arse again. But, can you not?”

“I could have-” 

“Please, Harry? My head is pounding and we're, quite literally, nearly out of the woods. I don't want to spend the rest of this time bickering.”

“Y-you don't?” 

Draco looked up, then, into the viridescent eyes that shone in the magical light. “No, I don't. I want to sleep, have sex, and forget that I almost died.” If this was all the time he had with Harry, he didn't plan to waste any more of it. “Think we can manage that?” 

Harry grinned, leaning forward to catch Draco's lips in a gentle kiss. “In that order?” he asked with a laugh. 

“Yes,” Draco scoffed and swatted at his chest. “Lay down, prat. I need a pillow.”

When they were settled, Harry's hand rubbing soothing circles over his back and the sounds of the night reasserting themselves, Draco could forget that this was not normal. That it wouldn't last past the forest, where Harry was among his friends and society still shunned the Death Eater who got off too easy.

Here, Harry was apparently his. He held Draco like he might never let him go. He pressed kisses to his head and ran a hand up and down his arm. His skin reflected the soft light of the orb above, it gilded the dark curls that were being crushed into a pillow. 

Lifting his head, Draco closed his lips around the steadily beating pulse at the base of Harry's neck, sucking lightly at the dark flesh. Harry moaned, his arms pulling Draco instinctively closer. 

“I thought you wanted to sleep first,” he quipped, gasping when Draco closed his teeth briefly over the muscle. “Not that I'm complaining, of course.”

“Good,” Draco murmured. He rose to his knees, straddling Harry's waist and sliding against him. “I want you.”

“Fuck,” Harry breathed, his hands moving to clasp around Draco's hips as he rocked them, dragging panting breaths from parted lips. “Yes. God, yes!” 

Draco stilled, drawing his wand and vanishing their clothes. He was impatient, quietly desperate for Harry's touch. For the glorious friction of their cocks moving against each other. But it wasn't enough. 

Bowing over him, Draco lifted his hips, trapping Harry's cock behind him, and ground back against it. He reached back to spread the globes of his arse wide, shuddered at the sensation of Harry's heat, so close the that most private part of his body. Draco muttered a spell, gasped when the slick fluid dripped from his opening and smeared over the cleft of his arse, easing the way for Harry's cock to slide against him. 

“Oh, fuck,” Harry groaned, his grip tightening. There would be bruises, no doubt. Draco's skin was fair, delicate, but he didn't care. He wanted the reminder of this night. “Draco, Draco,” Harry chanted. His eyes were squeezed shut, his neck straining back as he rocked blindly against Draco, moving on instinct and desire.

And still, Draco wanted more. 

Bracing his hands on Harry's chest, he shifted again, angling his hips to catch the head of Harry's cock in the divvet made by the clenching muscles of his opening. Harry's eyes flew open as Draco lowered himself, forcing the blunt head past the ring of muscle. 

“ _ Aaaah, _ ” he cried out when the burning sensation threatened his nerve, and stilled. Harry tried to lift him away, muttering incoherently, but Draco shook his head. Taking a deep breath, he slid lower. 

“Draco! Oh my god, Draco,” Harry whispered, over and over. “Are you sure? Fuck, you feel so good.” 

Draco nodded mindlessly, his hips quivering with the effort of going slowly. The pain was still there, and the enormous feeling of Harry's cock sliding into him. He bit his lip, determined to finish this. And, when he was fully seated on Harry's lap, his own wilted erection twitching with renewed interest, he sat gasping. 

“Ar-are you okay?” Harry asked, shaking his head as if to clear his vision. “Fuck! You're so tight, so-” 

“Harry,” Draco gasped, cutting him off. “Please, you have to do it. I can't move.”

His jaw slack, his eyes wide, Harry nodded. Grasping Draco's hips in fingers now coated with sweat, he lifted, drawing his own hips back. The slide sent sparks of pleasure racing up Draco's spine and he threw his head back, arching into the feeling. 

“Yes,” he groaned, putting his own effort into it as Harry slid home again. “Oh, fuck. More,” he demanded. 

As if scratching an impossible itch, he moved, rocking his hips, gasping with every thrust. Below him, Harry held on, staring up in wonder. His hips worked, meeting Draco thrust for thrust. Closing his mouth, he reached forward and wrapped a hand around Draco's cock, fully hard again and leaking. He locked his eyes on Draco's and tugged, pumping his fist in time with their thrusting hips. 

“Yes! Oh fuck, Harry,” Draco whimpered. 

The pressure building in his groin was too much. He stilled, trying to ease the ache, but Harry kept moving. Fucking up into him and twisting his wrist with every stroke of his hand over the flushed skin of his cock. Draco's body froze, his arse clamping down, his cock spasming as his release shot from him, splashing on Harry's chest and belly. 

Spent, he slumped forward, his shoulders hunched and his chest rising and falling until, with a guttural sound, Harry lunged. He snaked an arm around his damp waist and twisted, flipping them so that Draco sprawled beneath him, his legs dangling wantonly in the air. Positioning himself, he thrust back in, dragging a long moan from Draco as his back arched. Something inside him exploded, bursting light behind his eyes. 

“Oh, Merlin!” Draco cried, his hands scrambling for purchase on Harry's slick shoulders. “Oh, gods, yes! F-fuck- fuck me, Harry!” 

And he did, thrusting erratically, panting against Draco's throat where he buried his head. “God, Draco,” he gasped. “Jesus fucking christ!” 

With every thrust, he hit that spot, and Draco swore he was going mad. But Harry was close, he could feel him harden within him, feel his cock jerk, feel the molten spunk filling him up, spilling from his arse as Harry kept pumping. 

He winced when Harry finally slipped free with a squelch, falling forward over him. Draco lay there panting, inordinately pleased with himself. As far as first times went, he was sure it could have been worse. Although, he wasn't sure it could have been much better. 

“Holy hell, Draco,” Harry groaned, rolling to his side. “Where the hell did that come from?” 

“Are you complaining?” Draco scoffed, propping his elbow to hold up his head. 

“Fuck you. Of course I'm not.”

“Good.” Supremely satisfied, he laid his head on Harry's chest and curled an arm around his waist. 

After a moment Harry spoke, his hand resuming the pattern he'd been stroking before. “Are you okay, though? I wasn't too rough?” 

“I'm fine, Potter,” Draco sighed. “Go to sleep.”

Chuckling, Harry shifted one arm under his head and pulled Draco closer with the other. “Goodnight, Draco.”

-

“Draco,” Harry called, stretching as he left the tent. 

The sight that greeted him was… unexpected. But endearing. Draco was tending the fire, a skillet perched over it, atop a makeshift grill. Ju-ju danced about his feet, following every move in the hopes of receiving uncooked offerings. Between the fire and the rodent, Draco didn't appear to have heard him. 

Harry smiled and, taking advantage of his distracted state, slipped quietly behind Draco, wrapping his arms around his slim waist and swaying. 

“Good morning, gorgeous,” he murmured, pleased when Draco jolted, then relaxed into his arms. “Are you cooking?” 

“Don't be ridiculous, Potter,” Draco scoffed, turning in the circle of his arms. “I was simply preparing the ingredients for  _ you  _ to cook.” 

Harry wasn't sure he believed that, but Draco was shoving a plate of chopped sausages into his hands before spinning away to levitate a decaying log from the outskirts of their campsite. Sitting, he welcomed Ju-ju into his lap and settled in to watch. 

Shrugging, Harry went about making omelets for both of them, tossing bits of sausage to Ju-ju. “Have you checked the map? I'm not sure how far off course that Runespoor put us.”

“Not far,” Draco said, scratching at Ju-ju’s ears. “Worst case scenario, we'll come out of the forest at a slightly different point along the treeline. We should be there by early Friday afternoon, if we don't get attacked again.”

Harry chuckled. “What's today?” he asked, cracking eggs into the cooked sausage. 

“Thursday. Another day and a half, and I'd say we've passed this portion of our N.E.W.T.s. Speaking of which, we should work on our lists. We added quite a few spells, yesterday.”

“Don’t forget the potions.”

“What about the potions? I’m the one who identified the antidote, and the salve.”

“Oi! I was looking for the bezoar! And I found the essence of dittany and the blood-replenishing potion.”

“Y-you did?” Draco was staring at him, his eyes wide.

“Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t poison you, I know what both of them look like.” Plating the omelets, he passed one to Draco, then took his customary seat on the ground beside him. When he kept staring, Harry nudged his knee. “You should eat, Draco. We skipped dinner last night.”

“Of course, right.”

“It’s not that shocking, is it?” Harry asked, chuckling. “I’m not a complete idiot.”

Draco frowned. “You’re not an idiot at all,” he said quietly.

“No, I suppose I'm not. I'm just pants at potions.”

“Apparently, you aren't even that,” Draco scoffed, tossing his hair back and lifting his fork. “Who'd have guessed?” 

Harry shoved playfully at his knee and Ju-ju scampered up the leg of Draco's trousers to bat at his hand. “And where have you been?” Harry asked, giving the creature a stern look. “Could have used your help yesterday, mate.”

“He was doing what any good Slytherin would have done, weren't you?” Draco cooed, scratching his long spine. “Looking out for your own hide.”

“Is that what a good Slytherin would do?” Harry frowned, eyeing him. “Then what the hell were  _ you  _ thinking?” 

Smirking, Draco lifted his eyes to his. “I was thinking that you had all of the supplies and I wanted to make it out of this forest alive.”

“Draco.” 

“What do you think, Potter? You nearly died last year, and I couldn't-” He broke off, snapping his mouth closed and sitting a little straighter. “How many times does that make? You attract death like no one I've ever seen. And I was just supposed to run?” 

“I told you to,” Harry said gently. “I could've-” 

“Fuck you.”

“Draco, I'm serious! I had everything-” 

“No. Fuck you Potter.” Rising, he fixed Harry with a hard stare, all trace of teasing gone. “You throw yourself at danger and, what, we're all just supposed to watch? Well I'm sorry. I've had my fill of watching while the people I-”

Harry stared, taken aback by the rapid change in the tone of the conversation. In the rush of Draco's anger. “The people you…”

A muscle ticked in Draco's jaw and he folded his arms over his chest, glaring that familiar glare Harry hadn't seen all year. Frankly, he didn't miss it. When Draco didn't elaborate, choosing to turn and storm away, Harry bolted after him. 

“What, Draco?” he demanded, catching his arm and spinning him around. “The people you what?” 

“Nothing. Let me go.”

“Care about?” Harry insisted. He didn't release his arm, though, taking his other shoulder and shaking slightly. “Love? Do you-”

“So what?” Draco shouted, flinging his arms out in an effort to dislodge Harry's hands. “What does it matter? Thirty-six hours from now, you'll be back to hating me. Or ignoring my existence! So, sure. I love you, you prat! And I didn't want to watch you die! Is that what you wanted to hear?”

So many emotions were roiling in the pit of Harry's stomach, too many to untangle, so he focused on the strongest. “You love me?” he asked. 

“Fuck you, Potter,” Draco sighed. All of the fight drained from him he gazed at Harry with a hopeless sort of sadness he'd only seen once before. In the cold, damp bathroom on the third floor. “Yes.”

“And you think I could go back to the way things were? That I'd want to? I've been trying to get your attention all fucking year, you self-absorbed twat!” 

“That's ridiculous! You've been ignoring me!” 

“No.  _ You  _ have been ignoring  _ me! _ ” 

“Of course I have! What did you expect?” Draco gave a humourless laugh. “If you had a problem with it, you could have done something!” 

“I did, Draco!” God, this was infuriating. How could one person be so fucking oblivious? “I partnered with you in classes, I sat with you in the common room! I tried to fucking talk to you a million times! The only reason we're here together is because I requested to be partnered with you!” 

“No you didn't.” Draco's eyes were wide again, but narrowing rapidly. “McGonagall wanted you to keep an eye on me.”

“See? Self-absorbed twat. Can't even see when everything actually  _ is  _ about you because you're too busy thinking everything is about you.”

“Th-that doesn't make any sense…” 

Pressing his forehead to Draco's, Harry sighed. “Just go with it?” 

“So,” Draco began, then cleared his throat. “So, you want to walk out of the forest holding hands and just act like it's the most natural thing in the world?”

Harry pulled back to look at him for a moment. “Yes. Because it is.”

“It's really not.”

“It really is. If it helps, Ron and Hermione don't think you'd go for me,” Harry teased with a smirk. “You'd get a kick out of proving them wrong, wouldn't you?” 

Draco laughed, his arms finally coming around Harry's waist. “Much as I would enjoy that, your plan is flawed. Weasley and Granger don't believe any such thing.”

“What are you talking about? Of course they-” 

“Don't. Weasley knows everything Granger knows, and Granger knows everything. Full stop.” He grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I'm sorry to break it to you, Potter, but your friends are lying to you.”

“Why would they…” Trailing off, Harry frowned. Damn. He was far too susceptible to reverse psychology. “Fuck.”

“Ah, there it is,” Draco laughed. 

“Well, then prove them right. The point is, I'm not worried about their reaction, and neither should you be.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Fine,” Draco laughed. “Idiot.”

“You love me.”

“Shut up.”

“I love you, too.” 

“Of course you do. I'm loveable.”

“You're a pointy git,” Harry sniggered. “But, I think I love you anyway.”

-

The rest of the journey was uneventful, to say the least. That afternoon, Draco charmed a quill to take notes as they walked, adding every spell they could remember using and what potions they'd identified. Harry was wary of it at first, as it reminded him of the quill Rita Skeeter used to tell lies about him. Draco flinched, remembering how many lies he'd fed her during fourth year. 

Every chance that he got, though, Harry held Draco's hand as they walked. The casual, easy touch made Draco want to withdraw, to curl into a ball of regret and self-loathing. How could Harry want to touch him? How could he claim to love him after everything Draco had done? 

He knew he should be asking himself how he could have done so much to Harry after his epiphany in fifth year. He'd fought it, of course. Draco Malfoy could  _ not  _ have a thing for Harry Potter. It was absurd. But, by the time that feeling passed, it had been too late. He had a nasty new tattoo and parents to save. 

Shaking his head, Draco dragged his attention back to the present. To the nearly path-like trail they followed while Ju-ju frolicked to and fro in the underbrush. To the forest where Lethifold dangled from the trees above and Harry Potter held his hand like the two were made to fit together. Perhaps they were. 

The idea didn't make it any easier for Draco to force his feet forward as they approached the treeline. He could already hear other teams chattering like birds, laughing among themselves as they reached the end of their exam. Terrified, though he'd never admit it, Draco froze. 

“Draco?” Harry asked, coming to a stop a few steps ahead. “What's wrong?” 

“This is crazy,” he muttered, shaking his head. “This is insane. A week in the Forbidden Forest and no one is going to question this?” 

“Question what?” 

“This, Harry!” he cried, lifting their joined hands. “No. No. It isn't possible. Someone is going to say I drugged you, or cursed you, and then everyone will-” 

“Hey, shh. So what?” 

“So what?” Draco shrieked. 

“Yeah. So people think something stupid. They always would have, regardless of what I do.”

“It isn't about you, Potter!” 

“Of course not,” Harry grinned. “If it was about me, it couldn't be about you.”

“That's not what I-” 

“No, you're right. It isn't about either of us. People want someone to idolise and someone to blame.  I can't help that they chose us. But I won't let their madness infect my life.” Cupping Draco's cheek, Harry pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, then his lips. “I want you to be a part of my life, Draco. Should I let them stop me?” 

“Maybe?” 

“The answer is no. You chased after a fucking Runespoor for me, Draco. This has more heads, but their poison isn't lethal.” Stepping back, Harry held out his hand and waited for Draco to take it. Waited for Draco to choose him. 

Ju-ju appeared, winding himself between Draco's ankles before climbing his trousers, then his shirt with sharp claws and settling about his shoulders. Draco smiled at the little creature. With a shuddering breath, he closed his eyes and took Harry's hand. He didn't open them again until he stumbled over a root and Harry laughed at him. Surely that was a bad sign. 

But Draco chuckled to himself. Everything about this was a bad sign, a disaster waiting to happen. Harry's hand in his, the ominous silence that met them when they cleared the treeline. The shouts and screams from the surrounding students. 

It didn't matter that they were encouraging sounds, or that Granger and Weasley bounded forward to meet them, startling Ju-ju into ducking for cover in the pack Harry held. Weasley clapped Harry on the back while Granger threw her arms around him. Only, her aim was off as Draco was accidentally pulled into her embrace, as well. 

He tried to extract himself, wishing he could follow the Raiju into their pack, but it was futile. The woman had a death grip - another sign of the misfortune that laid ahead for Draco Malfoy. As sure as her words whispered in his ear:

“If you hurt him, I'll kill you,” Granger warned, and Draco swallowed around the lump of fear in his throat. Because, surely, it was fear. What else could it be?

He didn't have long to find out though. Harry was dragging him up the lawn to where the professors waited at a table that must have been moved from the Great Hall. McGonagall eyed them with an odd little twist to her lips and Hagrid beamed at them. The rest of them looked a bit confused. Harry dropped their pack on the table and shuffled through it for their lists, grinned at them, and took off again before Draco could say a word. 

“Where are we going?” he panted, jogging to keep up with Harry's pace. 

“My dormitory,” Harry said as they burst through the doors into the castle. “I miss my bed. I've been dreaming of it for days.”

Laughing, Draco followed him through the corridors, suddenly just as anxious to ignore all of the signs and fall into bed with Harry. Because, for the time being, he knew where he was. 

And it was a wonderful place to be. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Remember, kudos are love and comments validate my existence! ❤️


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